


Provenance

by Leszre



Series: /trænˈsendəns/ [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: A major-character death, Genesis story_of sort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Not Beta Read, au-ancient greece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-09-27 23:24:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17171444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leszre/pseuds/Leszre
Summary: CMBYNone chapterin AU-Ancient Greece spin.•Not-beta-ed,•Con-crit welcome! (I plea thee be ever so kind and gentle.).My Request: though I don’t foresee this from ever happening,please ask meif you, in any way, feel that this drabble is worthy of being shared in any platform other than AO3.





	1. Olive Tree and the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> How EliOllie’s love story began––  
> .  
> I apologize in advance if this story seems a little choppy as it came to me as a series of image and sounds, like a short history-based movie. I saweee---  
> .  
> I was happy that I managed this chapter just shy of 3K. yay!!  
> .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: **T**  
> .

 

####  **Olive Tree and the Sun**

 

Pitch black.

.

A sound of dawdling liquid drop on a puddle echoes in its long intervals.

.

Drip.

.

Scuttling sound and tiny quick squeaks of rodents.

.

Drip.

.

A distant noise of busy market and thick clunks of hand-pulled carts rolling.

.

Drip.

.

A muffled conversation of someone bartering and quarreling. A jangling clangs of metal.

.

Drip.

.

Scraping sound of metal door.

.

Drip.

.

A series of hushed footsteps on murky puddle.

.

Drip.

 

As soon as the other, heavier set of, footsteps walk away into the distance, after the jarring groan of metal shutting close, a person rushes over and kneels down in front of a prisoner.

An emaciated man – with his head hung low, shackled on all four, each arm is pulled to opposite directions, the flesh around both wrists marred, caked in dark dried blood and thick rust from the heavy cuffs – fares his shallow breaths, only just.

 

“I beg of you, cease this,” says the visitor in a hushed shaky voice in deep agony, swallowing the tears.

Recognizing the voice, damp dark curls barely manages to lift his head, trembling hard.

“took you long enough,” says the prisoner, his voice rough from disuse and exhaustion though he is well aware that it must have cost the visitor a fortune just to visit him like this.

The visitor desperately cups the prisoner’s haggard face with both hands as if he is handling the most precious object, “you must tell them.”

Tomorrow is the sentencing day. The prisoner gives a faint smile between his labored breaths.

“That’s all I have been doing,” the dark curls tosses the words coolly between strained breaths, “and it’s not going to change,” pulling the edge of his lips upwards. That little movement looks perilously toilsome.

“Helios!! Please---!” the visitor pleads, tears welling up in his eyes, his thumbs tracing the lines of the dark curls’ cheekbone.

Helios' breaths become harsh and rough, wheezing. Then the prisoner presses his chapped lips on the visitor’s thumb. Even that small gesture appears to be too much for the dark curls.

“Come closer,” says Helios, exhaling out the words and musters a smile as much as he could, he heaves his chest as if to dredge some strength up before continuing, “and hold me.”

The visitor immediately knees the cobble stone floor and gets closer to him, pressing his upper body flush against the prisoner, getting some of the weight off of Helios. A faint sigh of relief automatically escapes the dark curls lips, quivering from the sensation of warmth from whom he madly, hopelessly longed for. His head sways gently leaning against on the visitor’s shoulder.

Two stay that way for a while as if the time has slowed. Their chest breathing against each other. No need for words.

“the last time you call me by _that_ …,” a short exhale, “was when I broke the olive oil vase…,” a dry cough, a wheezing inhale, "over your transcript.”

The visitor manages to chuckle a little and kisses Helios’ hair. A long ragged sigh of relief brushes against the visitor’s shoulder.

“Call me by your name and I’ll call you by mine,” says the visitor with bated breath.

A low hum. A few cycles of labored inhales and exhales then, “Elio,” says the prisoner with devotion and reverence.

The visitor grits his teeth to muffle his throaty lament, pressing his cheek against Helios,

“Elaía.”

**The Birth of It all | The Gift-Giving Contest | Athens, Greece**

 

According to Greek mythology, the creation of the olive tree was the result of a contest between Athena, Goddess of Wisdom & the daughter of Zeus, and Poseidon, God of the Sea & Zeus' brother.

Poseidon coveted earthly kingdoms and so claimed the possession newly built city in Attica(the historical region of Greece), driving his trident into the Athenian Acropolis which became a well of salt water. Later, Athena came to town and took it in a very peaceful way calling Cecrops, the first King of Athens, as a witness. Athena, by striking a rock with her spear, made an olive tree spring, right next to the well. Poseidon, in anger, challenged the goddess, but Zeus intervened and ordered the formation of a divine tribunal to decide which of the two Gods should be enshrined in the city. The city would then be named after the god or goddess who gave the citizens the most precious, useful and divine gift. Thus, the tribunal formed by the Olympic deities. After listening to the testimony of Cecrops, the gods decided to side with Athena. It was determined that it was she who had the right to own the land because she had given the city the greatest gift: the first olive tree, an offering signifying fruitfulness and peace. Thenceforth, the city adopted the name of Athens and the olive tree planted by Athena was revered for centuries in the Acropolis symbolizing the victory.

Olive trees, ἐλαία [elaía] in Greek, “Oliver” in Modern English, are shallow rooted and require a well-drained soil. They need a subtropical climate and do best with mild winters and long, warm, and dry summers, its branches and leaves always reaching for the Sun. Sun, Helios (one of its many variation) in Greek, “Elio” in Modern English, fatefully shines down its smile throughout the Mediterranean region nine months on average in a given year.

 

As far as the archaeology goes, the following is the _very_ first of their timeless saga.

*

 

“How dare you look upon the noble without permission?”

As the rolls of scrolls fall to the ground, the blond quickly kneels down low, almost touching his forehead to the floor.

“Anchises, stop!” a young man pleads rushing over in front of an old man who was about to slap the prostrating man, “he was only getting me the books."

Anchises gives the young man a light bow and takes a couple of steps, to stand next to the young man. The young man had the typical feature of the Greek male: tanned marble glowy skin, dark curly hair.

 

“What do they call you?” asks the young man.

“I’m called Elaía, vἐαv dominus,” answers the blond lowering his head more.

“Olive tree. huh-,” mutters Helios under his breath.

“It was given by my master, vἐαv dominus.”

“Please rise.”

Elaía lowers his head more.

“Elaía, rise. Let me take a look at you.”

Elaía hesitantly and reluctantly rises to his knees and places his open palm in his thighs, intentionally keeping his gaze to the ground.

“Oh, by Zeus--,” the dark curls says tartly, gets close and kneels in front of Elaía.

Anchises walks close to get hold of the young man but the dark curls snaps at him firmly, “leave us!”

Anchises opens his mouth in a protest but soon leaves the room.

The blond’s gaze is fixed on the floor though he is now sitting upright properly.

“Wow---,” says the young man in pure awe, “it’s like the sea.”

That is when the blond’s gaze meet the dark curls for the first time.

“Dominus?”

“Your eyes---,” a small smile, “they are like the ocean.”

Up close, the young man has tight dark luscious curls like the rest of the proper Greek people with light-coppery skin tone. He is on the thin side but from overall constitution anyone could easily tell he has been well-fed and groomed as an aristoi off-spring should.

In Elaía’s entire life, there was only one other person who looked at him the very way this young man is: as a living, breathing person and a human being, not an exotic property to be gawked at.

*

 

The luxurious see-through fabric billows with the wind. The floor of the room is strewn with an unrolled scroll after another.

In the corner where the ornate lounge chair is a pile of Olives, a half-eaten piece of torn out bread next to a larger loaf sat on the small table with two almost emptied wine cups. Different types of clothing are carelessly thrown on the floor leading to the bed.

.

Quiet sensual moans and hushed erotic groans.

The dark curls of the young man are brushed back, his head resting on the pillow, his long eye lashes casting shadows on his sculpted cheekbone. With his hazel eyes gently closed, he presses his lips on the sun-seared skin. The young man’s arms are hooked under and through the broader torso, forearms aligned with the well-defined scapula, each of his hand holding the blond’s shoulder tight, finger pads ravenously pressing on the flesh.

The young man’s lips nibbles gently on the blond’s earlobe while two bodies undulate together. His pink tongue peaks out and licks the shell of the blond’s ear. A throaty growl gets muffled as the blond exhales.

The blond pushes palms on the pillow bracketing Helios' head, raising his upper body not changing their rhythm, as the young man hands innately trace down the back and flow over to his pectoral then drape over the blue eyes’ neck in one smooth motion, Helios' fingers drawing the line from the back of the blond’s neck cupping his face. Their eyes meet as their bodies rock together like waves of the calm sea. Their chest rise and fall in unison.

The blue eyes brings lips down to the young man and lays a kiss on him just below his jaw, nudging the dark curls head up a little. The hazel eyes lips gape ever so slightly and let out a sultry low whine.

.

“When can you come back?” asks Helios, tracing his finger tips on Elaía’s chest just below his slave necklace.

“It’s…,” the blond trails off.

“I know,” answers the young man with a small defeated sigh, “I understand,” Helios rolls over with a grunt.

Another sigh.

“I wish my mother isn’t so apprehensive about---,” says Helios, messing his own head.

“Well, you are of a high born after all. Your duty is to…”

“What? Take a suitor to continue this status?”

Elaía exhales quietly then slowly sits up on the bed.

A pause. The silence only confirms that they already had this conversation before. It is customarily accepted for a person of nobility to own a slave as a paiderastia. Although Elaía was opposite of a pre-pubescent boy, Helios hated the notion of making Elaía as his on-the-side lover while appearing to be heterosexual nobleman.

“I know,” says Helios in a ‘I have an idea’ tone, “I heard about this place called Sparta, and there, I can declare you free and we could get mar---.”

“don’t be absurd. You know what they require.”

Helios groans with a frown, messing his own hair, “a head of household.”

Another silence.

“Wait,” the young man quickly sits upright, “does that mean you’ve thought about it?” leaning into Elaía shoulder. Elaía quietly wonders how Helios doesn’t give himself a whiplash each time he does that. The blue eyes smiles, nuzzles his cheek against the young man.

“oh-, you did!” says Helios breaking out into a happy laughs, “yes, you did,” continues the hazel eyes poking Elaía’s ribs teasingly, “you love me that much, huh?”

The blond finally laughs ridding himself free from worries.

“my Elaía seriously pondered about getting married with me!” says Helios to himself, leaning into the blue eyes kisses.

*

 

**A couple of days after the arrest | Dungeon**

 

“Young master.”

“Samouel, did my mother send you?”

“No."

“I know what you are going to say.”

“Then why do you insist?”

“I rather die than live out my life a lie.”

“What of Elaía? Do you not think of him?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Do you think Elaía wishes for you to die like this?”

Helios does not answer but gets up and faces the dungeon wall.

“They are going to make an example out of you, young master,” says Samouel grimly.

“I gathered as much.”

“I have arranged a bargain with one of my dear cousin, Avvella, she’s going to take him with her to _the_ city.”

The tears well up in Helios’ eyes, “thank you, Samouel.”

No more exchange of words.

Samouel takes in an audible inhale through his nose, “do you have any message for him?”

Helios blinks once with the soundless rise and fall of the chest.

 

 _Live your dream of becoming one of the best scribe in whole Greece._ (Helios hands something into Elaía’s hand and gives a little squeeze. Elaía’s face expression indicates he knows what it is without even opening his palm and his lips gape a little.) _See the world with your beautiful eyes. And write a story, as you have been sharing with me, as you have been reading to me. About your travels, with whom you met, where you visited and went, the exotic foods you tasted, the folklore you heard. The wind in your hair, warm gravel under your feet._

 

A pause. A sad grin comes on Helios’ face. Then, a single shake of his head.

Samouel dips his head a little as an acknowledgement. Then he presses his lips together, making a thin line before stepping away and leaves the cell. The door closes behind him with a slow loud thud.

Although Samouel has arranged a deal with the guard to make his young master's stay more comfortable, Helios' insistence on his world view – that love should be respected regardless of social classes – turned him into a martyr for bureaucrats of Athens. The young man is lashed and whipped then stripped of his noble clothes in public. The torture continues as Samouel warned him; Helios grits his teeth each time he was being made an example of.

Elaía, as requested by Helios (he made Elaía vow not to come to the square) before his imprisonment, keeps himself inside.

*

 

**Sentencing day | A montage of two simultaneous scenes |**

 

Withered Helios is being dragged out to the center square.

On the other side of the acropolis, heavily hooded in disguise, Elaía’s back is gently pushed by a palm of a woman.

The town folks yell and curse at Helios while his hazel eyes are unfocused, barely standing, motionless.

Elaía gets himself on to the donkey pulled cart.

The orator announcing Helios’ final sentence and citizens cheer.

A single “eyaht!” with the whip of the reign, the donkey’s ear turns sideways and the old cart begins to roll, making loud rattling sound. Elaía keeps his gaze toward the direction of town square.

Stones and broken potteries are thrown at Helios, flaying his skin on his arms and back. His scalp peels and bursts with bright red blood. Bigger stone knocks him to the ground and the crowd gets closer, surrounding him.

*

 

**Some length of years later | Somewhere near the ocean**

 

An old man with silver-blond hair with full beard is standing in front of an old olive tree. His blue eyes are casting far on the glistening waves of Mediterranean ocean. The warm breeze caresses his skin feather-light, carding through his hair. The bright blazing Sun shines down all things on earth under a clear blue sky. The silver haired man tilts his head upward slowly, closing his eyes. The sunlight turns to a translucent red glass inside his shut eye. He takes in a breath slowly, filling up his lungs. The lazy lapping sound of ocean waves comes to focus.

 

Gulp, gulp, gulp.

An older man, white haired with a square face, finishes drinking from an earthen cup and wipes his forearm on his lips.

“I thank you for your kindness, young man.”

The boy with bright blue eyes and the smooth golden locks smiles, taking the cup.

“so, what are you called?” askes the old man with the kind eyes.

A quizzical expression comes on his face as if he doesn’t understand what the old man mean.

“ah---,” says the old man with the look of understanding, “do you tend to these olive trees?”

The blue eyed boy nods slowly with a shy smile on his face.

“Then, I shall call you Elaía.”

“E..laía?”

“Yes, it means Olive tree,” the old man smiles offering his hand, “now, take me to your adults.”

The little boy hesitates a little but his little fingers slowly reaches for the old man’s callused hand.

.

Elaía smiles opening his eyes. He then takes a couple of slow steps around the tree and bends down with a bit of difficulty as he is no longer a young man.

The very Olive tree where the young boy met his master who brought him to Athens, Greece is now grown into a thick vines of old tree with mature branches and bountiful leaves.

He runs his hand on the earth and makes a shallow hole. Then he takes out something from his pocket and buries it with utmost care and respect.

A moment.

A tempered content sigh.

A gentle press of his palm on the freshly covered little dome.

 

“Cor Cordium, Elio.”

.

.

.

*

 

> Elaía of Mellitus (later so named by Modern Archaeologists) is remembered and revered as the first doulos ever to free himself and became a scribe, who played an integral part of recording the long lineage of the Ionian School. Elaía devoted his life on transcribing the works of Heraclitus in various languages. When the Latin became the official tongue of Roman Empire, Elaía wrote his last transcript on the finest clay imported from Asia Minor. This book miraculously survived the test of time under water since the ship carrying it sank while it was on its way to the Library of Alexandria. The earthen pottery box that held this copy under water was sealed completely when deepsea divers found it. It was said to have a trace of olive oil. When the restoration was finished, the dedication read: _For Elio_.

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -vἐαv dominus: Ancient Greek for young (male) master.  
> -doulos: slave as a whole  
> -aristoi: high (noble) born  
> -a friendly FYI: the Ancient Greek precedes Latin and Sanskrit. :)  
> -paiderastia: Pederasty in ancient Greece was a socially acknowledged romantic (sexual) relationship between an adult male and a younger male usually in his teens.  
> -would you like to guess who the white haired man was? (the one who gave Elaía his name)  
> -a song recommendation for the town square montage: ‘Remember’ by Josh Groban/Tanja Tzrovska.  
> -irrelevant detail: had ‘not a bad thing’ by Justin Timberlake in an infinite loop while writing this.  
> .  
> * **disclaimer** * This is not meant for an accurate historical depiction or retelling of Ancient Greece.  
> .


	2. Cicada

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (_~~)_ I beg for mercy!  
> .  
> the original intent WAS for a singular chapter in this Greek AU. but... but... my brain--- *sigh*  
> .  
> Rating drop: **G**  
> .

 

####  **Cicada**

 

**Present day | New Archaeological Site, Athens, Greece**

 

The area was expertly divided in grids. With the help of Octocopter drones, the survey team was able to clear the area and set up several tents in a record time, before the academic team and experts arrived. Students from University of Leicester and National and Kapodistrian University of Athens were busying their delicate movement of unearthing the structures and artifacts within the site.

Oliver, wearing his straw hat with two top buttons opened on his shirt, walked over to the edge of the site, where the stump of an old tree was found. Upon Elio’s insistence, Oliver had a cooling scarf around his neck, _it’s a smart temperature-regulating nano fabric_ , his Alpha husband said.

 

“Professor Perlman!” someone called from behind him, “Doctor Perlman!!”

Oliver turned on his heels and gave a soft ‘yes?’ expression.

“My graduates have already surveyed there,” one of the renowned historian from UK said to him.

Oliver gave a nod with a small grin with a single wave of his hand. He then walked around the tree trunk towards where it’s facing the ocean and ran his fingers on the dirt. Oliver couldn’t understand why he was doing this. _You heard PhD Heys. This plot square was surveyed already._ Oliver thought to himself. But something inexplicable was pulling him towards it. The blond dug around the area for a while, exposing the root of now fossilized olive tree. With his blues eyes keenly focused, Oliver stroke his brush along its intricate structure. He was at it for an hour and that was when his brush revealed a tip of something that should not be there. Oliver attentively broke up the earth around the small object, after changing into his precision tools. When the final stroke of his brush dusted away the loose dirt, a small hand-carved figurine appeared.

He took out his foldable meter stick and placed it around the object. Then, a flash. Oliver busied his thumbs on his hand-held device to upload the photo, on the cloud server of the current project's digital archive. The app automatically attached the item number with its time stamp.

 

**Present Day, in the meanwhile | Avissynias Square, Athens, Greece**

 

Elio and his two children were holding respectable local foods in their hands. Ellis, a gyros wrap with extra tzatziki, Olive, thiples which kept bending to the side since it was bigger than his little hands could manage. Elio, after tossing the last piece of dolmathakia (rice & herbs wrapped in grape leaves) in his mouth, gently helped his son by rearranging the heavily honeyed rolled pastry. Olive gave him a wide smile, thanking him. Ellis, of course, started fussing over Olive's sticky hands with moist towelettes.

They led their way into one of the shops in Monastiraki Flea Market where expertly crafted replica of Helen of Troy trinkets and Trojan horse figurines were in display.

“Wow, look at these Papa,” exclaimed Ellis, putting her wet wipes in her pocket.

“Yes, dolce bambina. Exquisite, aren’t they?”

Ellis politely asked the shop keep whether she could take a picture.

Olive squeezed Elio’s hand and the dark curls responded with low affectionate hum.

“Papa, cos’è questo? asked Olive quietly pointing at the little key chain.

“ah---, cucciolo. It’s really nice, isn’t it?” answered Elio with his trademark smile.

It was a 3D cicada expertly carved out of synthetic amber.

 

**Cicada | the myth and folklore**

 

Cicada(s) /sɪˈkɑːdə/ or /sɪˈkeɪdə/ lives in temperate to tropical climates where their large size and unique sound makes them well known. They typically live in trees, feeding on watery sap from xylem tissue and laying their eggs in a slit in the bark. Most cicadas are _cryptic_ , singing at night to avoid predators.

Though cicadas have life cycles that can vary from one to nine or more years as underground larvae, their emergence above ground as adults is not synchronized. Among the most fascinating and best-known are the 17-year cicada (often erroneously called the 17-year locust) and the 13-year cicada (Magicicada).

Regardless of annual or periodic type, cicadas emerge just to spend the short summer for their love rituals before dying, after spending most of their lives underground as nymphs. What makes more interesting is that nymphs has to go through a grueling transformation to become mature adults before even being able to serenade love songs to find their mate.

Cicadas have been used in folk medicines, as religious and monetary symbols, and as an important source of food. Their song once was considered to forecast weather changes.

The cicada appears in the mythology, literature, and music of many cultures, including that of American Indians. The notable symbolism is that of rebirth and immortality shared not just one culture but several, including the Ancient Greece throughout Greeko-Roman era, Hittite, Egypt, China and all the way to Australia’s early aboriginal history.

Maybe it was pre-destined for their love to be short-lived like that of cicadas' summer life. Well~, it could also be a roundabout explanation why Oliver took almost twenty years to find his way back to Elio: his _Sun_.

 

**Eons Ago | Athens, Greece**

 

Helios walks to the library without Anchises, weaving pass the bustling life of acropolis. Of his 17 years, he never shied away from being around the city folk. An attitude, or a naïve curiosity as his mother calls it, a high born should not have. Helios always loved and admired all different ways of life, even that of butchery, laundry, and whittling. One of his favorite activities was to swing by the bakery and taste the fresh out of the oven bread. Today isn’t an exception. He doubles his pace as he nibbles the last biteful in his mouth when he comes near the building.

Minding the prying eyes of people in vicinity poring over his presence, Helios chooses the service entrance where servants and slaves use. After passing the threshold, his pace comes to a sudden halt then takes nervous strides to the right then to the left. Helios runs his palm from the nape of his neck to the top, heaves his chest.

When he gingerly steps in, Elaía is standing in front of carved stone podium, as usual, sorting through old transcripts. The sun filtering through thick off-white linen hung near the ceiling makes Elaía’s golden locks gleam. At the end of gently casted eyes, Elaía’s aureate lush eyelash casts a light gradient on his skin like two feathery wings. Helios’ breath hitches. Unlike the dark curls’ own, Elaía’s fair skin, though it has tanned spots and sun-seared lines that marks his social class, glints translucently. If he could, Helios thinks, he would reach out and run his finger tips on them. It would feel like the softest entity he’d ever touched. Helios takes in an inaudible, shuddering breath. All he desperately wanted right now is for time to stop. So he’d stay like this, just so, until the last breath leaves his body.

But Viminia made her little brother promise, yesterday after supper, that Helios is to accompany her to the silk room in the market today before sun down; to help her pick out some imported fabrics for her new dress. By the position of the Sun, he cannot stay like this forever. So Helios begrudgingly brings himself out, from behind the shelves.

“young master,” Elaía bows.

A little flinch, “I had some trouble understanding,” says Helios quickly rummaging through his sac he wore across his shoulder, “Cuneiform in this book,” while taking out a tablet and pointing his two fingers.

Elaía runs his gaze tilting his chin a little at where Helios is indicating and quickly gives himself a concealed smile. Elaía knows that Helios’ knowledge is beyond the level of normal highborn youth: from the books the young man read, the lectures he attended.

“Ah---, I often confuse myself with the similar one also, young master,” says Elaía instead with a modulated tone, “here, I received the very thing that may assist you with your question,” and walks to the side wall where new arrivals are.

Then, the blond pauses. Helios is not following him. Elaía turns his head with his eyebrows gently raised.

“I know you are just indulging me.”

“Dominus?” Elaía quietly swivels on his feet to face Helios.

“Haven’t I asked you enough times not to call me by that?” Helios tosses sourly.

Elaía bows his head in sincere apology, “forgive me, (well-deserved one).”

“Ugghh---, damn the rules, I curse the gods!”

Elaía’s head snaps up with wide eyes and rushes over to Helios, “please---,” as if to hush him while looking frantically around to make sure no one was around to hear the young man uttering those words, “you mustn’t,” Elaía pleads.

The air around them pauses. Elaía soon realizes what just happened. His fingers were lightly wrapping around Helios’ wrist and the back of his hand. Elaía quickly lets go of his fingers as if he touched a burning metal. Immediately, Helios’ hand swiftly chases after it.

Their eyes finally meet.

Elaía’s blue eyes are quivering, taking in the intense gaze of those hazel eyes.

Helios then leans in and places his forehead on Elaía’s collarbone. A tempered sigh escapes through the young man’s nose.

“Is it because I’m 17 and not yet a head of household?”

“young master---.”

A groan like sigh, Helios frowns.

“awh, for once, address me by my name,” though the words are in the form of high born ordering down to slaves, his low voice implores with deep anguish.

Two stood still in the middle of the hall, only a foot apart, Helios’ forehead just touching Elaía’s collarbone, his weight barely on it. Afternoon Sun shining in glows into a thicker tinge of orange, not forgetting to bear the tiny floating speckles in mid-air in its all loving, all-encompassing paths. Muffled sounds of busy life going about their days resonating through the stone walls.

Soundlessly, Elaía’s other hand slowly comes up as he indolently leans his cheek down on Helios’ head. His callused fingers tremble as he allows himself to run his hand on the young man’s hair. The scent of frankincense and cardamom rises as his fingers land in benevolence and admiration.

At his touch, Helios buries his face, muffling his sharp cough-like sob. When Elaía’s large palm finally cups the base of Helios’ skull with a gentle hold, Helios encircles his arms closing the distance between them.

“Elio---,” Elaía breathes out the young man’s name, like a prayer, bringing Helios’ body close against his chest.

The young man’s hand bunches up the rough fabric of Elaía’s back, with a ragged exhale through his parted lips.

*

 

When Helios visits Elaía the next time, a few days later, the hazel eyes finds him being whipped mercilessly by one of the working class of the library.

“STOP!!!” yells Helios, pushing the arm of the periokoi up and away.

“Dominus,” says the angry periokoi whom Helios never met, lowering his head, panting.

Helios tosses couple of silver coins on the floor, “I’m sure it is more than enough for your trouble at the pub.”

.

**Elaía’s quarter | near the Library**

 

Having seen his own mother lash Manfradi whenever something angered or agitated her, Helios knows a thing or two about how to tend to the wound. Thanks to Mafalda who has always been a great cook and house-help.

Elaía bites down his hiss as Helios tends to the ripped flesh on his upper back. The dark curls doesn’t ask why the blond was being punished. Nor Elaía mentions anything about it.

Before Helios takes the oil-soaked linen with crushed herbs out of the bowl, he hands the older man a small object. Elaía remembers that Helios’ household always gets a xenoi trader’s visit every month with goods from around the world.

“of all the things you could have, this is what you chose,” a gentle chuckle escapes his nose, almost like an exhale, looking at the little ornament on his palm.

Helios unrolls the cloth by only using his finger tips and lifts it gently before placing it on the back of the blond's angry skin.

“I don’t know,” says Helios with a shrug, “it was the least gaudy.”

“Least gaudy?” says the blond with a jolt as the cloth touches his injured skin, “this is Zhou dynasty Red Jade.”

“You know what I mean," says Helios, in a quiet yet nonchalant tone, "besides it is small enough for me to carry everywhere,” answers the dark curls, taking it from Elaía’s palm then places it inside the pouch hung around his neck.

“Do you know the meaning of Cicada?” asks the blue eyes warmly, taking the young man's hand.

A pause.

A blink.

"You...," begins the dark curls, in a whisper, stunned, as Elaía gently runs his fingertips on Helios' skin, "you are holding my hand."

The blond hums, not looking up.

A small smile comes on the young man's face but quickly disappears and is replaced with thin lines of frown, in disbelief, in shock.

Elaía brings his other hand and gently flips Helios' hand over, with his soft gaze tracing it, as if he was inspecting a priceless artifact. Then the blue eyes slowly aligns his fingers with Helios'.

"you are gonna be a lot taller," an inaudible tiny inhale, "Elio," says the blond quietly.

Helios freezes completely. _Elaía said my name. He just called me by my name_. The young man blinks hard once with his voice echoing in his head.

The blue eyes' head tilts minutely as his other hand brushes over the back of the young man's hand. And, in a delicate yet stilly movement, he interlaces their fingers together.

The young man finally smiles, dumping out his chest with a long trembling sigh.

Helios feels relived and is glad, no!, ecstatic that Elaía is finally finally letting himself and accepting the dark curls' affection for him.

More importantly, Helios is happy at the fact the blond understood the very reason why the hazel eyes chose the carved cicada, of all the finest thing the young man could have.

.

.

.

* * *

\---------------------------------

[Deleted Scene]

Oliver walks inside, keys quietly jangling in his palm, covered in different shades of rust-orange dust on his clothes, as the sun just disappears below the horizon. He finds all of his family snuggled up together in the very traditional-Greek-design bed. Olive is fast asleep on his back, his head nestled on Elio’s chest, his hair on his forehead little damp. One of Elio’s hands is threading his son's golden locks, his palm gently cupping the side of his head. Ellis is curled up, her back flush against Elio’s side, with her father’s other arm tucked under her neck as a pillow, their fingers loosely interlaced.

Oliver loops the strap of his shoulder bag up off his shoulder and over his head as his eyes find a little note: Elio’s careless scribbles, Oliver always loved.

‘Olive thought you’d like this one. and _I_ whole-heartedly agree! -E’

Under it, a small red amber cicada key chain quietly sat.

\---------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -helpful glossary, _per se_ :  
> i. cos’è questo: [Italian] what is this?,  
> ii. dolce bambina: [Italian] endearing term for a daughter, sweet baby girl,  
> iii.cucciolo: [Italian] endearing term for a son, puppy,  
> (item ii & iii. represent deeper connection of a parent and a child, well... according to my research, that is…),  
> iv. Periokoi: [Greek] “dirty feet”, dwellers-round-about, citizens in general, working class,  
> v. Xenoi: [Greek] non-resident foreigners.  
> .  
> -the regional names, school names, local foods are real.  
> -Octocopter drones are designed for heavy-gear lift that has recently been commercialized but quite (really, really) expensive. I just fast-forwarded its wide-every-day-economical application in this fic. (as the 3D-printing did.)  
> -Cuneiform(or Sumerian cuneiform): one of the earliest systems of writing.  
> -Zhou dynasty: Ancient China (1046– 256 BC before Qin dynasty) *the archaeological evidence shows that the terracotta soldiers of Qin Shi Huang’s tomb may have been made by the hands of Ancient Greeks. (amazing, right? talk about technology & craftsmanship trade!)  
> -the earliest red jade cicada is from China dating around fifth century BC. It’s a real artifact.  
> .  
> -yesss---, I committed a self-indulgent cross-over between my own fic.  
> -I intentionally forewent on Oliver’s last name in all my fic.  
> -And this time I did ask for permission/consent, explicitly. For the sake of their schedule, I shall keep that author’s identity under wraps. So for those of you miraculously figured out ‘whom,’ be a sweet sweet darling and don’t go pestering. Pretty please.  
> .  
> -an irrelevant detail: had piano solo of “the man I love” by G. Gershwin in an infinite-loop while I was writing this chapter. (if any of you watched “Westworld” season 2, ep2, it’s the song Clementine plays for Logan’s private demonstration scene. *do I hear soft 'ah---'s?, giggles*  
> .  
>  _PLEASE_ continued to stay as absolutely delightful as you are in 2019.


	3. Viminia, the River Styx, Blood, and an Unbreakable Oath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> Just under 4K words. (me very glad)  
> .  
> Rating jump: **M**  
> .

####  **Viminia, the River Styx, Blood, and an Unbreakable Oath**

.

**The Most Recent Goodbye | Crema, Italy**

 

A young woman is lying on a bed; her chest rises and falls as she takes one shallow breath after another. On her bedside, a guy is asleep holding her hand, his head on his forearm.

She turns her head quietly and slowly blinks her eyes. With the gentle squeeze of her hand, the man wakes up with a start, his dark curls swaying.

“Sorry,” says the young woman, quietly.

The mess of dark curls sways as the man shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes.

“Go home, Elio. Get some sleep,” says the young woman with hoarse voice.

“nuh, uh,” counters Elio quietly with a slight shake of his head, rubbing at the back of his neck, “did you have a bad dream? would you like some ice chips?” continues trying to wake up.

Her doctors from Vittore Buzzi Children’s Hospital in Milan said that it would be best for her to spend her remaining days in the comforts of her home. Elio came back to Crema just to be at her bedside, despite it was during his school year in _Conservatoria di Musica G. Verdi di Milano_.

“Elio?”

“hmm?”

“play it for me,” she glances slightly.

Elio pauses. A small dip of his head, “alright,” Elio turns his torso, slants his upper body to reach his arm out, still holding the young woman’s hand, and grabs the acoustic guitar that was leaning against the cabinet.

Elio gently moves her hand up on his forearm as he places the guitar on his lap. The young woman gives him a small smile and slides her fingers from his arm, with a slight incline of her chin. He smiles, quietly.

As he gently plucks the strings, getting himself comfortable with the instrument, leaning a bit forward, his head turned and bent slightly forward. The young woman’s palm softly lands on Elio’s curls.

Bach Capriccio in B flat major, BMV 992 I Arioso Adagio.

Elio’s slender fingers skillfully strum the strings, creating calm and soothing melody.

Then, Elio plays 80s pop songs. He starts with Cyndi Lauper’s _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun_.

At his expertly balladic sounds, the young woman’s face blooms with a fond smile as Elio sings the lyrics. She hasn’t smiled that wide since her hospitalization three months ago.

*-*-*

 

**Eons ago | Elaía’s quarter | Ancient Greece**

 

“Domina,” Elaía prostrates low immediately.

Her natural brown curls gets revealed, as the long slender fingers elegantly unhood the cloak away from her head. The fabric glides down her luscious curls and onto her shoulders, effortlessly. Her well-tended locks glint dark auburn under the ray of late morning Sun. She frowns slightly of how abruptly the blond bowed down to the ground, abandoning everything he was doing. _In_ his own residence. She clicks her tongue quietly as she watches Elaía making his body as small and miniscule as possible. Just like her young brother, Viminia did not condone treating another human being differently, because of the social class. Especially, a resident-foreigner such as Elaía; if his fate were to have aligned with the stars, he probably was destined to be one of the great Greek scholars to be remembered for generations to come.

Viminia bends down, reaching out her hands, which makes Anchises scowl unobtrusively. She shots him a brief, piercing glance before cupping her palms on Elaía’s shoulders.

“Rise,” she says softly, “please.”

The blond reluctantly gets himself up one foot at a time, keeping his gaze on the floor.

“My young brother was not exaggerating,” she quietly murmurs, smiling softly.

“Domina?”

“Please don’t make me order you to look upon another human being, standing in front of you,” her warm voice cautions tenderly.

The blond blinks a couple of times, bringing his fingers together in front his body.

Viminia lets out tiny muffled huffs, shaking her head a little.

“Elaía.”

“Yes, domina.”

“From now on, you are to address me by my name,” a brief pause, “Viminia,” she ends her request elegantly, beaming.

The blond gasps as his head snaps up a little.

“There you are,” says Viminia, raising her gaze to meet Elaía’s.

“I am Viminia to you as you are Elaía to me,” she inhales softly, “it shall be so, in my household,” a light recess, “anywhere else, as long as we are alone,” with a melodic tone, “I shall be your confidant, Viminia.”

“Yes, domina.”

She lets out a single closed lips cough, pulling her chin down a little to her chest, with her gaze on Elaía.

“ye--,” Elaía stammers, “yes, Vinimia.”

“See? it isn’t so difficult, is it?” she counters affectionately, chuckling casually, “after all, you and I are of same age.”

Anchises clears his throat.

“I am just about had enough of your audacity, Anchises,” she snaps low,  only turning her head towards him.

Anchises dips his head as an apology.

“Just because you are of freed status does not mean you can treat others as if they are lower than you are. How many times have we spoken of this?”

“My sincere apologies,” Anchises lowers his head and top half of his upper body.

“You are forgiven, my dear papákis,” Viminia says coolly.

Anchises brings two whickered chair from the corner and places each down on the floor.

Viminia thanks Anchises while Elaía bows his head to him, taking the chair. The salt-and-peppered haired man curtly dips his head with his lips forming a thin line, as if to let the blond know that the old man still does not entirely approve.

“Now please don’t mind him too much,” says Viminia, straightening her dress as she is making herself comfortable in the chair, “he is quite old fashioned. Mafalda, Manfradi, and he practically raised me. _Us._ Helios and I. So, it’s quite understandable that he cannot refrain himself from being over-protective,” adds the high-born brushing the fabric on her upper leg down with her palm, “aren’t you, Anchises?”

“Young mina.”

That’s the first time Elaía witnesses Anchises smile.

Viminia courteously dismisses him, by entreating him to come back in a couple of hours, while busying herself with the basket she brought. Grapes, olives, brined lupinis, and on. Anchises helps her lay out the refreshments on the table, before leaving the slave’s quarter. The older man says something about he’s going to make sure no one bothers them during her visit. Viminia simply gives soft chuckles.

*

 

 

All his tumultuous 24 years of life, –  almost 17 years away from his home city, ever since he was sold to a Greek elder man with untamed white-hair whom he met under the olive tree, – Elaía never had a shadow quite like Helios. Alluring hazel eyes has been capriciously following his every move behind his luxurious dark curls. This young man stood behind the bookshelves, pretending to go through the library stock. Elaía doesn’t remember exactly when it started. But the blue eyes _did_ notice him; not just in the library, but in the lecture hall, in the transcribing chamber, and even in the market. It took this young Greek man almost three full moons to come and ask for assistance. That day, Elaía recalls, all he remembered was him looking up and meeting those gorgeous hazel eyes, for the first time – next to carelessly fallen over scrolls and tablets. They were intricate threads of green, yellow, and gleaming white, weaving through and through in layers, just all hazel, with a small dot in the middle encased in crystal clear dome. It took the blond’s breath away. And then those two little black dots became a full blown black abyss as Elaía held his gaze.

At the beginning of late flowers’ bloom, the older man could no longer hold back his gravitation towards this young man. Helios tended to his lash wounds. The high born Greek treated the metoikoi slave, _him_ – a nobody and a complete stranger –, as his equal. That was the day, Elaía held the young man’s hand; a soft slender hand with the light coppery-color he always envied.

And now?

A huff like exhale and a single throaty low hum with a bright smile.

.

Helios’s arm is holding onto Elaía’s back, as if for his dear life, while the other hand is cupping the blue eyes’ jaw, kissing him. His closed eyelids flutter and his body oscillates rough up against the frescoed wall. Elaía lingers his kiss on the young man’s lower lips as he rhythmically rock their bodies together

“open those eyes, Elio,” pleads the blond in a low, hushed, sultry whisper, ablaze, panting harshly, continuing to surge their entwined bodies in unison, sweats beading down his face, “let me see you,” and traces his finger pads, gently clawing, along the young man’s outer thigh, of the leg wrapped around his waist.

Helios’ full-blown two black holes roll upwards as his trembling eyelids lift, desperately trying to look into Elaía’s eyes but couldn’t, since the blond steadily thrusts deep into him.

Elaía’s large palm comes up, fingers splayed, and takes hold of Helios’ tilting head, pressing their foreheads together. Their noses’ tip touches just so, as the dark curls’ lips fall open, hot breaths escaping. Helios struggles to keep the ball of his standing foot on the smoothed stone floor. The toes curl as if to grip for non-existent balance. Elaía traces the fleshy part of his thumb on Helios’ kiss-swollen, lightly parted lips. At the touch, the young man lips pucker a small kiss before taking hold of it between his lips and making it disappear into his mouth. Moist warm tongue rolls around the finger. As his cheeks hollow in, the hazel eyes muffles his drawn-out sensual moan, ravenously sucking on the fair skin’s finger. All teeth grin comes on the blond’s face. Then the taller man drives his pelvis further up with a growl and Helios’ fingers dig into Elaía’s shoulder.

“ask me,” says the blond, gently gritting his teeth with lust, “tell me, latreea moo.”

A quickened exhale, “don’t hold back,” says Helios’ licking the length of Elaía’s thumb, with his tongue flat against it, “my fair stallion,” continues the hazel eyes with parched mouth, “go ahead and bound right into me,” Helios barely enunciates the words, making the last syllable sound like _mich_ as he lets out exasperate all puffy-moan – _hah_ -s and _ah_ –s – through his gaped mouth, at each beat of Elaía’s thrust.

The blue eyes lets out a deep throaty rumble and scoops Helios up, taking a step back. Then the blond brings the dark curls pelvis down with a tilt, towards his lower abdomen, as if to lock the young man’s hip like a puzzle piece with his own, thrusting up deeper. Helios’ head falls back, biting his lower lip, sighing out a rough grunt of intense pleasure, then flings his other arm around the back of the fair skin’s neck.

As the taller man continues the speed with a bit more weight, driving his full length of sizzling edifice, almost out and then all the way into Helios’s in smooth wet welcoming maw, the hazel eyes interlaces his fingers behind Elaía’s neck and leans his upperback up against the wall for support.

“Elaía,” Helios breathes, wetting his kiss-swollen lips.

The end of blond’s lips quirk up at the name.

“Elaía, Elaía, Elaía” repeats the young man breathlessly, tightening the hold on his crossed ankles.

“yes, my beautiful beast,” Helios’ urges on, tossing his desire up into the air, “do it,” adds bringing his head upright to lean his forehead on Elaía’s, “give me everything. Let the gods envy you.”

The blond pushes Helios’ back flush against the wall, widening his stance so Helios’s body would be secured. Then he places both palms on the sweat-smudged frescoed wall, just above the dark curls head. After a light press of his lips on Helios’ forehead, the taller man ramps up his speed, holding the young man’s gaze.

Steady, potent, and carnal waves continue, as Elaía wordlessly pour out his devout corporeal adoration with his each hard thrust. The blond exhales through clenched teeth and continues the unrelenting speed, as if the blue eyes is literally trying to push his already hard-hammering heart to the brink of its end: being mercilessly ripped into dark crimson shreds. To show Helios, how much he lusts for him, how much he wants him, how much he means to him, and how much he _loves_ him. Helios was right. Elaía is a wild stallion having it away with everything he has.

“Elaía,” breathes out the blond.

Helios just nods quickly, “I want e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g.”

The blue eyes presses his lips desperately on the dark curls’ lips. And with a final heave, he shudders, nuzzling his face against Helios’ temple as he spills every passion into him.

Unable to catch his breath, the blue eyes leans his cheek over Helios’ as the young man cards his fingers tenderly into his damp golden locks. As the hazel eyes slowly and gently massages the scalp, Elaía lays slow open-mouth kiss along the lines of the young man’s collar bone.

Helios hums from the back of his throat. And Elaía lets out a sated chortle like sigh and bucks his hip up, letting the post-climax satiety vibrate through their body. That draws a short happy whimper out of the dark curls.

Between rough breaths, the blond says, “would you mind---?” with his chest still heaving.

Helios gives a quick head shake, playfully twirling his finger on Elaía’s chest.

With a fond smile, Elaía sits them down on the floor, his large palm supporting the young man’s bottom. As they sat, Helios let out tiny mhph-s.

“you okay?”

The hazel eyes nods, catching his breath, running his fingers on Elaía’s sweaty forehead, “me okay,” and brings their lips together.

A long languid kiss. Their lips smoothly glide along ever so amorously as two feverishly breathe in each other’s exhales.

To the older man’s surprise, Helios gently starts to rock his pelvis, making Elaía moan into the dark curls’ mouth.

“you’ll catch the chills,” says the blond low between kisses, running his large palm on the back of the young man’s sweat-soaked thin linen, grinning.

The hazel eyes arched his upper body up against the blond, continuing the leaden swells of motion. Helios encircles his arms around the fair skin’s shoulder, his bent elbows almost touching, and pulls him in close bracketing with the smooth inner forearms on the back of Elaía’s head. Just before the young man deepens his kiss, he purposefully whispers slow the following indulgent words, “then, you’ll just have to be my burning hearth.”

Elaía closes eyes slowly, kissing Helios fervently, as his hand snakes under the hazel eyes’ sweat damp chiton. Finger pads traces up between the young man’s thighs, the blond gladly gives into the invitation.

*

 

**Blood | the significance and its cult**

 

For as long as human beings have been able to make oaths, they have frequently used blood to seal them. _Blood_ was considered the most vital and regenerative of fluids, the very elixir of life. It was often offered as part of an initiation in many ancient Pagan and Christian religious ceremonies. Blood covenants were particularly common in the Middle East, and played a highly significant role in both Islam and Judaism, the Germanic Tribes, and also the blood oath among the leaders of the seven Hungarian tribes.

Blood oaths have been used to form a life-long bond and/or binding by a wide variety of mainstream religions, secret societies, warrior clans, criminal brotherhoods, and even between teacher and student in feudal Japan’s martial Ryu. To break a blood oath was unthinkable and those who did were considered the most vile of the vile.

 

**The Sentencing Day | Olympian Temple**

 

Viminia is sitting down with her legs folded together to the side, bent at the knees, shoulders sunk, her face looking up at the gods statues, disheveled, her face puffy, tears running down ceaselessly.

“You promised…,” her voice cracks, “you gave me your word that they will be happy.”

Ghostly hush echoes the vaulted hall of the temple.

“YOU SAID THEY WILL BE HAPPY!!,” Viminia cries out in agony. Her shriek resonances, bouncing off the vaulted stone walls.

A full moon and a half ago, she followed the instruction as it was given to her.

 

_Feed these grapes to your beloved brother and his treasured. Make sure they finish them all._

_And place this emulate and this vile under the bed where they consummate their love._

 

Athena, Aphrodite, and Eros appear in front of her from the fog-like apparition.

“my dear Viminia,” says Aphrodite sorrowfully.

The earthly woman looks up at the deities with her tear-streaked face, half-imploring, half-scorning. She turns her head to Athena.

“the venerable one, you took my husband from me at one of your sport.”

The human then turns to Eros, “the revered one, you snatched my child from my arms for your game of jealousy.”

“the admired one,” she comes back to Aphrodite, “you took my beloved brother as a proof that love only exists for you.”

She soundlessly bawls as her eyes flutter closed.

“you gave me your word that they’ll be happy,” Viminia only murmurs between her sobs.

“Were they not?” says Athena tartly with a stern look.

“I am disallowed from collecting my brother’s body!” exclaims Viminia, “and I am forbidden even going near his remains.”

“Oh, you poor child,” says Eros, “you already knew we do not meddle with the fate.”

“Fate?” Viminia shoots the word, “if their fate was to fall in love and be ripped apart horridly, why was I assured to pass on your blessing?”

“because you prayed for it, my ingénue child,” says Aphrodite, dejectedly.

Dumbfounded, Viminia’s gaze falls far.

Three deities stood looking down at disheveled woman.

“Now hear this,” spats Viminia, gathering herself up, filling her lungs, “all loving Gaea, and wide Ouranos above, I swear by the inexorable sacred river of oaths, Styx, I curse _YOU_ and I swear I shall no longer worship Athena, Aphrodite and Eros till the last breath leaves this body.”

The Olympian gods have been using the River Styx to swear oaths upon, as declared by the mighty Zeus after the Titan war. As one of the five rivers connecting the world of living and the Underworld, the River Styx has been believed to have magical power. A promise or an oath on the River Styx can only be broken if another promise is made on the Styx that cancels it out.

Persephone appears behind Viminia.

Three other Olympians gasp as Persephone is usually not permitted to meddle the matters of the mortal realm; because of how she was pulled back to the underworld. Also, Charon, the ferryman, usually is the one who governs the matters of such oath on the River Styx.

“The immortal ones,” says the bride of Hades as she bows gracefully with soft expression.

Persephone glides down next to Viminia. Her full-length peplos sparkled with her elegant move, as if the stars from the night sky have been plucked just to ornate her dress. They were not garish but in the shade of dark red like polished garnet stones. The fabric was not like the other Olympian’s wear. They were enigmatically delicate-thin with intricate lace. Something about it bequeathed an uneasy yet unyielding sinister.

“my poor soul,” the goddess of Underworld whispers softly.

“Persephone,” the mortal one gasps between her sobs.

The bride of Hades delicately lifts Viminia’s face by her chin.

“Is my brother with you?”

“no, my child,” answers Persephone offering a tender smile, “his breaths still lingers in his mortal body.”

“Can you help him?” Viminia asks breathlessly.

“no, you mustn’t,” Aphrodite interjects, reaching out her long marble white arm, about to take a step close to Viminia.

Athena stops the goddess of love with swift stretch of her arm. She austerely shakes her head once. Aphrodite opens her mouth to protest but Eros joins in.

“Mother, the bride of Ares, please---,” says Eros solemnly.

Persephone tilts her head ethereally, looking into Viminia’s tear-welled eyes.

“yes, my Viminia, I can,” answers the goddess quietly, wiping the mortal woman’s tears, “and I shall. You swore on the River of Styx.”

Athena slowly swivels around and takes a step into the thin air and disappears.

“What will you give in return?” inquires Persephone.

“My _Life_ ,” offers Viminia after a quick gasp for air between her sobs.

Persephone quietly hums. And Eros pushes his feet as if he is backpedaling in mid-air and fades into the thin air.

“I will gladly lay down my life, the one after this very one, and the one following the next, if you guarantee,” the earthly woman adds, “my brother Helios,” a sob, “and the love of his life, Elaía, will be happy, together, in love, forever.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” she answers without reservation, “if not in this life, in their next life. If not, the next, then the one after that,” Viminia adds with determined tone, “I will never pledge under the same foolish blunder again.”

Persephone ghosts her touch around the outline of Viminia’s face while the meager mortal holds unshaking gaze on the goddess.

“Then, so it shall be done,” says the goddess of the underworld with a small smile.

“Just as I wish?”

“Just as you wished,” says Persephone, bowing her lightly.

Finally, a serene smile blooms on Viminia face.

“how is it done?” inquires the mortal woman.

Persephone gently takes hold of Viminia’s arm, one hovering with gentle clasp only the forefinger outstretched, grasping the mortal's hand with the other, as if the goddess is slowly lifting the softest and smoothest silk. At the end of the deity’s slender finger, an unearthly shaped long blood-red nail gleams dangerously.

“on the seventh night of waning crescent, I shall come for you,” says Persephone, eerily turning over the end of her nail on Viminia’s inner forearm.

“that night, just before the new moon, I will bathe you in your own blood before crossing into the my world.”

Viminia swallows hard.

“With that, your oath on the River Styx and your sacrifice together will seal my promise as an unbreakable oath,” adds the bride of Hades, “no god shall break it or dare to counter with another.”

The mortal quietly nods.

“Very well,” says Persephone and tabs the end of her nail on the mortal’s skin.

Ancient writing no mortal has laid eyes upon appears slithering, in three lines in blackest red. As the queen of netherworld runs the back of her outstretched fingertip down on the corporeal woman’s flesh, the blood-red letters now trails behind, turning into the shape of six pomegranate seeds. Persephone artfully twirls her finger making the seeds spiral, lifting in mid-air just above Viminia’s forearm. The underworld deity smoothly rolls her wrist over, turning her palm up as the seeds float up along her movement. She lets them swirl above her delicately opened palm for a moment. Then Persephone's fingers strum-swirl-close on her palm, a softly clenched fist, making all traces disappear as if the whole thing never occurred.

The goddess of the Underworld leers leisurely, getting herself up onto her feet.

When Viminia dries her last tears, she finds the goddess of love standing with her hands on her chest, her tears glistening down her cheeks.

Viminia looks up with a temperate surprise, completely exhausted.

Persephone deftly whips her arm at her shoulder level, trailing her translucent black cloak, furtively tossing Aphrodite a sinister glance. Then she glide-passes the remaining Olympian, before disappearing into the thick evening air.

“My unfortunate, poor, poor, gentle, mortal soul,” says the deity gasping in uneven breaths, “I bless you with twelve lights.”

And the fairest goddess in Olympus places her celestial palm on top of Viminia’s curls.

“On my honor and my life, you shall always be with your brother each life you walk this earth.”

 

*-*-*

 

Elio ends his acoustic rendition of another 80s upbeat pop song, letting the last note cheerfully resonate through the air in the room.

Vimini holds out her palm and sighs contently. Elio reaches forward and takes her hand with both his hands, the pick still in between his fingertips, offering a small smile.

“I will miss those smiles, Elio.”

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> ayee---, here’s another long arse _End Note_. me sawee---  
> -college & hospital names are real.  
> -papákis: [Greek] dad.  
> -latreea moo: my adored one/ adoration.  
> -three full moons/ a full moon and a half: three months/ about 6 weeks, respectably (“my” sly attempt on fictionally fast-tracking without droning on the exposition of Ancient Greek calendar system.).  
> -metoikoi: resident foreigner.  
> -chiton: a type of tunic worn by Greek men, especially for Summer, was often made of a lighter linen material.  
> -friendly FYI: the sexy bits were under ‘fully-clothed’ condition. Now, where would you need to be fully clothed, hmm? *primary school girl giggle*.  
> -ingénue: naïve young woman (typically, a beautiful, kind, gentle, sweet, and often naïve female character in literature, film and play.)  
> -Prayers & offerings: In every home, street, and city, Greeks kept shrines for offerings to the gods. Grapes are one of the popular offerings when the ancient citizens pray for both blessings and curses.  
> -Gaea: [Greek Mythology] Gaia, the ancestral mother of all life, mother earth.  
> -Ouranos: [Greek Mythology] Uranus, Heaven, father sky.  
> -Swearing oaths upon Styx: in a gist, it’s kind of a check-and-balance for gods action and behavior, saying if a god breaks the oath, the consequence will ensue, though it may not be as dire as the ones the mortal ones would suffer.  
> -five rivers of Hades (a-z, not in the order of how the dead travels when they pass-on in Greek mythology, ‘the river of’ omitted below for economy):   
> i. Acheron: sorrow (or woe),  
> ii. Cocytus: lamentation,  
> iii. Lethe: forgetfulness,  
> iv. Phlegethon: fire,  
> v. Styx: hate.  
>  (cf. in Asian cultures and, of course, Dante’s inferno, similar depths or levels of hell is depicted. _curious---_ )   
> -the detail of this fic’s unbreakable oath & Aphrodite’s blessing are all me. *kuh hmm: one of my _bs_ -ories* Not based on any real reference. So I beg thee to refrain thyself from searching for more short stories, as there are none. *forgive me!*   
> -Persephone & pomegranate seeds: there still is a heated debate on how many seeds and their significance. But I elected to go with the version of six seeds since the correlating story of seasons matches the timeline of my AU interpretation. Persephone spends six months with her dear mother on Olympus and Earth (spring & summer) and six months with her beloved husband, Hades (fall & winter). So by this fic’s time line, Persephone was on her way down to the land of the dead when she appears before Viminia, at the end of the Summer.   
> -blood oath: since Vimini ailed with Leukemia all her short life, my interpretation: Viminia’s blood sacrifice for an unbreakable oath eons ago = leukemia.   
> .  
> -an irrelevant detail: had Rascal Flatts “Here Comes Goodbye,” (a decade old) K-pop, “goodbye, baby” by Big Bang, in an infinite loop.   
> .  
> now me go sleep--- *yawn*  
> .  
> .  
> .  
>  **[Special Thanks To]** : (in a to z)
> 
> ArchangelDemon,  
> Chrisaki,  
> crazyforhouse,  
> Debmont8686,  
> Glam_PT,  
> Kittenpurple,  
> krazysquare_xxiii,  
> LindaMaceMichalik,  
> lucifer_sings_in_soprano,  
> morningrise,  
> PerpetualStorm,  
> quima,  
> Sansany,  
> SteadyLittleSoldier,  
> sweet_charmie,  
> valexwest,  
> Vallier,  
> VesperCat,  
> +  
> anon who sent kudos,  
> all who took time to click and read.  
> .  
> \Thank you/ for your time and interest.  
> .  
>  **as of May 1st, 2019**  
>  if you'd like to drop a suggestion or have a question about any of my drabbles (i.e. clarification, background, etc.), please click [Request/Q&A link](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18658678) and post your comment. ;)


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